


Angmar's Bane

by Vyc



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien, Unfinished Tales - Fandom
Genre: F/F, F/M, Fanon, Female Characters, Friendship, Gen, Human Sacrifice, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Kinslaying, M/M, Original Character Death(s), Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Referenced only, Tumblr: legendariumladiesapril
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-08
Updated: 2018-09-13
Packaged: 2019-05-03 21:19:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14577888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vyc/pseuds/Vyc
Summary: Prompt fills for 2018's Legendarium Ladies' April, focusing on the women of Tolkien's legendarium, their lives, and their relationships.





	1. Morwen Elfsheen

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to [northeasternwind](http://northeasternwind.tumblr.com/) for the rockin' title. :D And thank you to [legendariumladiesapril](http://legendariumladiesapril.tumblr.com/) for running my favourite series of prompts year after year. I have yet to finish an entire month's worth of prompts, because April frequently is when things go a bit pear-shaped for me (or in the case of this year, a LOT pear-shaped), but someday!
> 
> These were all written very fast with low amounts of editing, so please bear that in mind. I'm pleased with how most of them came out, though, and they were tremendously good for me as a writer, so overall, I'm very satisfied.
> 
> I'll be posting my prompts over the next few weeks until I reach the point where I ran out of time, and then I'll be writing them up a bit more slowly. So watch this space!

Sometimes Morwen's thoughts reach for the frigid lands of the north.

The Gódhellim had come from there,Timeth had once told her. They had crossed the Grinding Ice from the Blessed Realm, suffering yet persisting in order to come to these lands. Her friend had shuddered as she'd spoken of the hells of which they had faced.

Cold nigh beyond the power of elves to bear—yet the promise of safety beyond. Almost she thinks to try it . . . but that would mean abandoning Dor-lómin. That she will not do.

Though she has no strength of arms to defend her house against Brodda and his court, she knows their fears and how to wield them.

The newcomers from the east cannot bear the sight or even word of the Elves. Despite her friendship with Timeth and the others, Morwen understands: they burn too bright. Fierce in love, fierce in battle, with a wildness unlike that of mere unlawfulness.

Morwen is human—determined and unyielding, but human all the same. Yet she will remember her friends, she will cloak herself in her borrowed ferocity, and she will endure.


	2. Tar-Míriel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The lord Sauron has a gift. Tar-Míriel considers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My brain is very frustrating sometimes y'all. Was I planning on posting weekly? Yes. Did I? Uh.
> 
> Anyway, this fic is based off [this picture](https://feltelures.tumblr.com/post/148819983899/feltelures-doitsuki-misbehavingmaiar) for the prompt "Fanon." I enjoyed writing it a lot. :D
> 
> Note updated tags.

"Your Majesty."

Míriel turns. The voice hailing her is as beautiful as the man to which it belongs, he of tumbling, glorious red hair and flawless skin enhanced by freckles. He looks like and smells of sex, and he has just stepped from her husband's bedchamber.

"My lord Sauron."

It is not her husband's blatant faithlessness that brings autumn into her voice—not in the way some might think. Pharazôn has always had his lovers, and she, hers. He took her throne, her personhood, and her name. Why should she care whom he beds?

No. Bare weeks ago, Pharazôn sent her Edhellos, beloved since they were young women together, to the human sacrifices in the temple. To see evidence of him enjoying his lover when hers has been burnt to ash turns yet one more part of her to ice.

"Might I have a word?"

She inclines her head and waits.

"I have . . . a gift," Sauron says. "A kingly one, that I had thought to offer His Majesty. Yet I find—Ar-Pharazôn is mighty in battle. I would not be here, otherwise. But there are many roles a king must play."

 _And Pharazôn has not the skill._ Sauron does not need to say it. They both know this to be so.

"Maybe it would make a queenly gift instead."

"What is it you offer?" she asks, though what is left of her heart forbodes ill. Pharazôn's orders brought death to Edhellos, but the thought of sacrifice was planted by Sauron.

Sauron reaches into the folds of his robe. His slender fingers open to reveal a ring, heavy and shining in his palm.

"Made by the elven smiths of Eregion before its fall." Sauron's voice has become a murmur. "There are only nine like it in the world."

"I have no need for more jewels." She turns away.

"Jewels, you have many. But power?"

She stills. Slowly, deliberately, she faces him again. He is smiling.

"The smiths imbued it with strength and might. Such craft will not be seen in this world again."

When she looks upon the ring more closely, she can see that he speaks the truth: this is no trinket. She feels a pull, half-hears a whisper. With this, she could regain her stolen throne and stand against Pharazôn, though his allies are many and hers dwindling by the day. He would be the one humbled, and she could free Númenor of his influence, and of . . . .

She raises her eyes to the inhumanly sharp gaze of Sauron. It is said that he can read the hearts of all, as if their desires were spoken aloud. She can only pray that this is not true.

Once again, she turns away. It is much harder than before. "I will think on it."

"Take as much time as you need. My offer will remain."

"Good day to you, Lord Sauron."

"And to you, Ar-Zimraphel."

Tar-Míriel hears no laughter behind her as she departs, yet something within her senses it all the same.


	3. Galadriel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With each gift she grants the Fellowship, Galadriel sends her blessing--and remembers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For this chapter, I used an older prompt: "How Do I Love Thee…" Since Galadriel has been my favourite Tolkien character for over 15 years now, it didn't take long for me to figure out who to write about. 
> 
> I also had been reading Unfinished Tales for the first time when I first wrote this, so I really enjoyed getting the opportunity to add in what I learned from there. You don't need to have read the book to understand this chapter, but it would probably help.
> 
> (This is also another fic I wish I'd had more time to spend on, but that's basically the running theme for this entire collection.)

Galadriel has always been a proud woman. Since her youth in Valinor, she has known her own strengths and trusted her own counsel.

Yet with the passing of years upon years, she has also learned of wisdom and her own failings. She has never been so foolhardy as Fëanor; even in her youngest, wildest days she knew better to challenge a foe such as Sauron outright. She might, though, have been tempted to join the breaking Fellowship, to take up the role of leader from the fallen Gandalf, and so strive against Sauron with allies at her side.

Not now. The time of the Elves, and her power, is passing away, and so with the Fellowship, she can send only her heart.

*

"In this hour take the name that was foretold for you, Elessar, the Elfstone of the house of Elendil!"

Dry fingertips of calluses and small fading scars brush her palm as he who is to be Elessar takes the stone from her. It is a touch that draws her into memory, when another roughened hand brought this stone to her.

_Olórin's smile brings comfort, even as it echoes the weariness of her own being. His touch to her hand brings the gentlest breeze of the Blessed Realm; already she can feel life returning to her through Elessar._

_This healing is not hers to keep, and in time, she will pass it on. But her courage is renewed, and she is ready to face the long defeat once more._

*

The light of late fall rises in the golden belt she presents to Boromir. Doom is soon to claim him, and so, to ease him, she sends the gentleness brought by one of her dearest memories.

_"What shall you name me?" she asks, pressing her smile into the cheek of her beloved._

_Celeborn draws her still closer upon his lap. "At last I have chosen. It was a terrible task, for I love all parts of you still more than I love the stars."_

_"And your choice is . . . ?"_

_"Alatáriel."_

_In the tongue of the Grey Elves which she must now speak, it is Galadriel: maiden crowned with a radiant garland._

_Celeborn weaves his fingers into the hair he loves so and kisses her. Artanis she is no longer, and never shall be again._

*

Silver shall be her gift to the first halfling, a bright-eyed youth called Pippin. To him, she passes a belt fastened with a golden flower, and the foreknowledge that danger can come swiftly, to terrible effect.

_Silver is beloved of the Teleri of Alqualondë, yet silver they have not: stones from the beach and driftwood washed to the shore are what they must use to defend themselves from the thieves and murderers who have descended upon them._

_Galadriel's sword is in her hand and shines where it is not wet with the blood of her kin. She had joined this rebellion to travel to Middle-earth, to find her own realm to order as she would. She had not come to see peaceful shipwrights murdered._

_For every Teler she protects, three more die beneath the blades and arrows of others. How can the Valar allow this?_

*

The second halfling that she gifts a belt, Merry, has no need for warnings. More solemn is his face, and he is older in more than years. It is a reminder of the name he bears that she sends to him.

_"So how is your frowning husband?" Ása asks her; the full beard she wears does nothing to hide her smile._

_"Frowning still," Galadriel answers, just as amused. "I think he will believe that you lure me to a terrible fate even when we have both passed beyond the circles of this world."_

_"All I hope to lure you to is a fine bit of beer." Ása holds up the jug that rests upon the table between them. "Another?"_

_"If you would be so kind."_

_The afternoon between Queen and Lady passes quickly, as these afternoons always do. Celeborn complains when Galadriel returns to him, of first her association with dwarves, and then of her beer-scented breath, but his protests subside soon enough. As Eregion grows, his misgivings diminish. One day, she hopes, they will fade entirely._

*

Samwise is simple and honest, and though the Fellowship's days in Lothlórien were few, she has already many tender feelings for him. To him, she gives hope and healing, for his role among his friends is plain.

_Some wonder how it is that Yavanna came to marry Aulë, but to Galadriel, it is no mystery. She feels the same excitement at the creation of beauty in Yavanna's seemingly unending gardens that she does in Aulë's mighty forge._

_One of her earliest memories is Yavanna's pride as Galadriel, though still a youth, shows the fragile plant she had coaxed to bloom. The sense of a hand on her head and blessing in her mind: these she will carry beyond the changing of the world._

*

She had thought long over what gift to offer Gimli, son of Glóin, dwarf of Erebor. Even as she gave to the rest of the Fellowship her blessings, a part of her searched still. The relationship between their peoples has been dealt too many wounds; she has no wish to injure it further.

When Gimli names his desire and what he would do should he receive it, bashful and blushing bright, she nearly laughs aloud. And then, with no hesitation, she grants it.

_"Three times have you demanded a strand of my hair, and three times have I denied you." She faces Fëanor, unflinching in the face of the anger that sits upon his brow. "Leave me be! I shall not tell this to you again."_

_"You are as ungrateful as you are powerful. Farewell to you, Artanis! My works await me in the forge."_

_She does not watch him leave, but departs to business of her own. There is a darkness within Fëanor of which she will have no part. Not even a strand of her hair will she pass to one certain to bring ruin to himself—and maybe all those around him, too._

*

At the last, she comes to the Ringbearer. Already within him, she can see his knowledge of the burden they share, but oh, how it will grow upon him, a hundredfold and a hundredfold more.

To him, she grants the light of one who had travelled to seeming certain death, when all hope had failed. And with it, she sends her deepest compassion.

_"To see what is to be is no gift," Queen Melian says without warning._

_Galadriel looks upon her with curiosity. Until now, they had been enjoying the fading warmth of the forest near Menegroth, walking together to view those red and yellow leaves that yet cling to the trees._

_"I have seen the deaths of my kind whom I will never meet," the queen goes on. "I feel that my time here, and the time of Doriath, draws to a close._

_"Thingol does not believe it to be so. He trusts too much in the defences I have made, and in me."_

_"It is a trust borne of love," Galadriel says, though her thoughts are not upon the King but a certain, comely elf of his house._

_Queen Melian's face grows soft. "Let me teach you. You share the same burden as I. Then you and I shall not be alone."_

*

She cannot go with the Fellowship in body, but she shall be with them in spirit. Until the quest is at an end, for good or for ill, she will send the last of her hopes with Frodo and his companions. Here, with her beloved of Ages beside her, she will prepare for the last days of Lothlórien—and the elves—upon Middle-earth. 

**Author's Note:**

>  **Gódhellim** : The Sindarin name for the Noldor.
> 
> Find me on tumblr at [feltelures](https://feltelures.tumblr.com/)! <3


End file.
